


Green Leaves

by Daerwyn



Series: A Collection of Drabbles by Helmaninquiel [56]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Child-birth, F/M, Fluff, all the salt, much salt, reader being salty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 09:23:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5328974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daerwyn/pseuds/Daerwyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine being Thranduil's wife and giving birth to Legolas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Green Leaves

It had been grueling hours upon hours of torture. Hours where you felt as though you could not go on, only for the healers to insist that you must, or you would both die. Hours where you clenched your empty fist, praying that you would see your husband soon.

But he still had not answered the healer’s call. He had snapped at the last healer you had sent for. He had denied the call. And you were absolutely furious. But too exhausted to order them to practically drag him to your bedside. 

Panting, out of breath, and warm from the exertion your body had gone through, you took the quiet bundle from the attending healer, and peered down at his serene face. He was innocent in all of this. A small child, an elfling, that had only wanted to be brought into this world with loving parents there to welcome him. 

You clenched your jaw, looking away from the child, and towards a healer that was cleaning up around you. “Fetch my husband,” you ground out, forcing your tone to be somewhat pleasant. And the healer winced slightly. “Tell him that if he does not arrive here in five minutes time, I will get out of this bed and shove the antlers on his throne so far up his ass, that he will not sit straight for the next two hundred years. If he tells you that he is busy, one more time…” You let out a patient sigh, giving her a chilling, and forceful smile, “I will be going to the Undying Lands alone-”

“Yes, my Queen,” she insisted.

You watched as she fled, the linens forgotten, and smiled gently down towards the bundle in your arms. He was as fair haired as his father, and his crystal blue eyes shimmered like stars in the candlelight. He was a very attractive child, one that you knew would grow into a strong warrior.

One that had been predicted to do wonderful things for the world by Lord Elrond of the western realm. A long, manicured nail trailed down the child’s cheek, and watching as the babe’s cheek lifted as he gave you a toothless smile. Oh, he was a darling little thing. His eyelashes long as he blinked them lazily at you.

“I hope you tend to the needs of your beloved far better than your father, little one,” you spoke gently, as if telling him a protected secret. “And do not even so much as think about ignoring your wife while she is giving birth. Some things not even a babe can forgive.” The child hummed, as if in agreement, but its mouth closed around your finger and you felt a small laugh leave you. And a hungry child, it seemed, much like his father always was. 

When the doors opened, the maid looked out of breath, and you saw the silver robes of your husband long before you saw his face. As soon as he entered the room, he knew he was in trouble. His eyes darted to the babe in your arms, and then to the expression on your face. Livid murder concealed behind a pleasant smile. “Thank you, Melanda. If you’ll give my husband and I a moment, alone, please?” 

“Of course, my Queen.” With a single bow, she ducked out of the room, her fellow maidens darting out with her, and the door shut almost inaudibly. There was silence and Thranduil and you stared at one another. Until you broke it. It seemed he was waiting for you to speak.

“Busy?” you repeated, what Melanda had informed you the six times you had sent for your husband. The words caused the man to flinch, and he did not move closer. “Too busy, it seems, to stand beside your wife as she delivers your heir.” 

“There were spiders in the forest-”

“Does it look like I care for spiders?” you interrupted. “Did it sound like I cared for spiders?”

He cleared his throat, sheepish, as he took a step closer, sitting at where your knees were concealed under the blanket covering you. “No, it did not.”

“No, that’s because I don’t,” you bit out. You took a breath of forced calm and closed your eyes. “I am so incredibly angry with you, Thranduil.”

“I am sorry, meleth… I thought you would take more time. I was already on my way when I ran into the maid-”

“I am sorry?” you returned, incredulously. “You think that would fix this? A child, Thranduil. You missed the birth of our child, our  _first_  child, because you were busy.” He closed his eyes, his head dropping. HIs long hair concealed most of his expression, but you were not done. He was just glad that your hands were occupied, otherwise you were certain the jug of water beside you would have doused him by now. And you knew how much he hated to have his robes ruined. “Do you not care for me and this child, as you so claimed?”

“That’s not-”

“I think you’ve used up all of your excuses-”

Thranduil glanced up sharply. “Excuses? The spiders are a threat to this realm. I am a king, and it is my duty to protect my people-”

“It could not have waited twenty minutes?” But you shook your head as soon as the question came out. “It is fruitless to argue about this. It will not change what has happened. We agreed, that nothing was more important than this child. And yet you dismissed him as if-”

“Him?” Thranduil interrupted. He was sitting completely upright now, oblivious to your expression of horror as he stared at the child. 

“You are only interested in learning that he is a male elfling and not that it is your child, regardless-”

He winced. “Forgive me, that was not my-”

You knew that his actions had not been meant spitefully. And while he was very warm in making sure everything was provided for for you in your times of need, there were times that he did things such as this - things that hurt you even if he did not mean it to happen. Things that you wished nothing more would have gone a different way. “Forgive you? And why should I do that?”

“Because i am your king.” As soon as he said the words, you knew he regretted them, mostly because of the way his jaw clenched and he curled his hand in the fabric of the blanket. His other hand was itching for the child in your arms. A pleasure you would not grant him in these few minutes. You’d make him wait just a little longer, to ensure that it did not happen again in the future with future children. 

“My king,” you repeated quietly. “Forgive  _me_ , for believing that you were my husband first, above all else.” 

“Meleth nin-”

“I will not forgive you until you make this right,” you said quietly. “Is that understood?”

“Yes, meleth.” You nodded once, satisfied. And gently leaned forward, withdrawing your finger from the child’s mouth, and passed it to the father that had been late. He sucked in a breath as he accepted the child into his arms, holding it as he had practiced in the many nights in your chamber, worried over causing discomfort. While Thranduil was perfect in the way he did many things, holding a child was not something he had ever done before. And while his worry was endearing those nights, it was not as endearing as the warm, light smile that graced his features as he stared down at his son, looking like him in every regard. 

“I’ve named him Legolas,” you said after a moment. 

Thranduil paused. “ _Green leaves_?”

“You are the  _vigorous spring_  in which this forest grows with,” you said quietly. “And with a spring, grows leaves. And this is the greenwood forest… He will rule it well one day, when we are to leave.” Thranduil merely hummed in agreement.

“I will disregard any duties presented to me unless there are threats to this very palace for the next few weeks,” your husband said quietly. “And I will tend to you on my hands and knees for anything that you may need.” His sincerity was punctuated with an intense look that he gave you. And the stern expression on your face melted. 

“You need not do that-”

“Yet I will, to atone for this.” He was quite serious about the declaration. You smiled and glanced down to the child, your finger tracing the outline of the blanket. “I am sorry I was not here.”

“I know.” You were about to shift closer to both of the boys in your life - as Thranduil was more often behaving as the elfling you had first gotten to know him as when you were alone, but Thranduil seemed to sense the move and instead moved closer to you, his legs stretching out atop the covers and his back pressed against the same headboard as you. It left the child’s head between you, so that you could see his eyes open and the brilliant blue shining in his eyes. “He is our star, is he not?”

Thranduil was quiet, and when he agreed, his voice was hushed. “Our star.” Thranduil’s hand smoothed over the tuft of white blonde hair atop the child’s head. “He does not take after you at all in appearance. Something I had been hoping for.” 

“Perhaps he will take after me in temperament. Not everyone can walk around brooding and ranting if something does not go to plan.” Thranduil smirked as he glanced up towards you, and you glowered playfully. “Today does not count. I hardly felt, and still feel, well. The pain of producing a child is much greater than any battle wound I’ve ever had.” 

“If he has half the patience that you possess, and half the kindness, then he will make for a great king.” Thranduil glanced down to the child. “One day, at least.” 

And though you hoped that day would not come anytime soon, there were always enemies that threatened your borders, enemies that had it out for a king that spurned all others away if they were not kin. Enemies that could not keep either of your from battle. “Promise me, that … that you will raise him with as much care and love as you give me,” you said quietly. “Just as I will promise you that I will do my best to give him the needed training to be a wonderful king like his father, should something happen… to either of us.”

He glanced to you, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. But he gave a slow nod. “Of course, meleth. I would treat him with nothing less.” 

You gave a small nod. “Our star deserves nothing less than his parents. But even to the best people, the worst happens.” 

“Just ten minutes ago, I was the worst person… does that make the best happen to me?”

You shot him a wry look of amusement. “Perhaps it’s better you attend to any and all duties. I don’t want to possibly inflate your ego.”

He hummed, and his arms tightened around the child. “No need, you do it enough when I remember you accepted me as your husband.” 

“And my king.” 

His lips gently pressed against your cheek. “Yet no one can correct a king like his queen. And no one can be as wise of a council as a wife is. I value every word you give me, meleth. And that will never change.” You smiled, dropping your head to rest at his shoulder. 

“Then would be too terribly annoyed if I rest my eyes for a moment? I’m positively exhausted.”

“I’m sure I will last long enough with a fresh child to allow you time to rest.”

You snorted, unable to stop yourself. “A fresh child?” You tugged the covers up so that they covered you more, giggling to yourself. “He is not lettuce, Thranduil. He’s a baby-”

“No, perhaps not,” Thranduil agreed. “But is there much difference between lettuce and _green leaves_?” You groaned in minute horror. 

“If you ever call him lettuce to his face, he will never forgive you,” you giggled out. Your eyes closed and you rubbed your cheek along his shoulder in order to get comfortable. “And it will just make me seem like an awful mother for naming him such.”

“Yet it is what you named him.”

You just groaned, much too tired to argue, or think of another name. “Later, we will discuss this at much length. For now, it would do well for you to not insult our  _fresh child_.”

Thranduil merely hummed in agreement and remained perfectly still save for his long fingers gently stroking the child’s hair or cheek. And you drifted off into a deep, meditative rest.


End file.
